


Do You Ever Think of Me in the Quiet?

by patster223



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Communication is a process, Fix-It, Multi, Season/Series 02, Slow Burn, coming together again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6368692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patster223/pseuds/patster223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karen, Foggy, and Matt find a way to be together again. </p><p>A slow burn fix-it fic after the events of season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Ever Think of Me in the Quiet?

**Author's Note:**

> I feverishly wrote the first draft of this in one day, because it was the only way I knew how to process the end of season 2. Spoilers for the entire season, obviously. Thank you to [eternalgirlscout](eternalgirlscout.tumblr.com) for the beta. The title comes from the song Where Are You Now? by Mumford and Sons.

As soon as Matt tells Karen that he’s Daredevil, everything clicks into place and her only thought is: _of course._ She still needs explanations, she still needs to hold the mask and ask dozens of questions, but buzzing through her mind is that phrase: _of course.  
_

“Of course this is why you and I didn’t work,” Karen says. “It’s why Nelson and Murdock didn’t work too, isn’t it?”

“It is. I thought I could balance things, but I couldn’t,” Matt confesses. “Things kept slipping through the cracks, I kept hurting you both, and…it just seemed easier to keep my distance: let you two live the lives you deserve.”

“And what about what you deserve, Matt?”

Matt shrugs. “If I ever deserved anything from you and Foggy, I…I probably don’t anymore.”

Karen wants to protest, but she’s not actually sure that he’s wrong. Matt Murdock deserves so much—but no one deserves to tear their team apart as Matt had done.

“This isn’t exactly keeping your distance,” Karen says, holding up the mask. It’s lighter than she thought it would be, smoother to the touch.

Matt grins, and it’s brittle and self-deprecating and cracking at the edges. “Yeah, well. I’m not very good at keeping myself from the things I want?”

Karen shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t…”

“No—not for you to take me back or anything like that,” Matt says quickly. “I’m sorry, I…I’m new at this.”

“This?”

Matt grimaces. “Honesty? Karen, over these past few months I nearly razed my life to the ground because I couldn’t be open with anyone when it mattered. I don’t think…I don’t think I’m going to _survive_ if I keep doing that.”

“Probably not,” Karen says softly. She runs her thumb along the smooth edge of the mask; she thinks about the stiff fabric of Daredevil’s glove when he stroked her cheek the night The Hand took her.

Karen’s hand shake. “You saved me. Except, no, you got me kidnapped in the _first_ place. You’re a fucking bastard, Matt.”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Matt whispers. “You were _never_ supposed to get hurt.”

Karen wipes her eyes. She looks around at the barren office, clutches the mask in her hands. “Well, I did. We all got hurt because of this. God, I can’t believe you.”

“I know you’re mad that my enemies targeted you, and that I kept it a secret, but-”

“That’s not what I’m angry about, Matt!” Karen says. “People are going to target me with or without your help! And everyone has secrets. That doesn’t matter to me. But you chose Daredevil over our _firm_ , Matt. You chose it over Foggy, you chose it over _me._ ”

“I know.”

“Do you even regret it?”

“Sometimes.”

Only sometimes. _Of course._

Karen says that she needs time to process this revelation, and Matt happily gives it to her.

And then she begins avoiding Matt. It’s easy to do, when Karen doesn’t live in Hell’s Kitchen anymore and they no longer work together. As busy as they are, their lives don’t intersect unless they actively want them to.

Of course, that avoidance only makes it all the more awkward when Karen runs into Daredevil. She’s sneaking around the fire department that she’s investigating for an article and nearly screams when she sees the devil mask hanging from the ceiling.

“What are you doing here?” Karen hisses.

“My job,” Matt says, slipping out of his Daredevil voice for a moment in his surprise. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“ _My_ job,” Karen says.

Matt drops from the ceiling. “And what is that?”

“I’m writing an article for the Bulletin about the fire bugs in this department. Who you know about too, given that you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Matt says. His gloves clench into fists. “They’re starting fires on purpose so that they can be the ones to put them out. They’re putting people’s _lives_ in danger for five minutes of glory.”

Karen shakes her head. “See, that’s what I thought at first too, but I think there’s more to it than that. All of the fires that are being started are targeting buildings owned by the same landlord.”

“You think someone’s paying to cause them trouble.”

“Maybe. Right now, I’m just trying to figure out how high up this goes.”

“The fire chief doesn’t know,” Matt says. “I, ah, paid him a visit earlier this week.”

It’s…weird talking to Matt while he’s in the suit, hearing him casually discuss how he beat up a fire chief. But Karen grew up in rural Vermont and now lives in post-alien invasion New York—she can deal with weird.

“So, what’s your next step?” Karen says, taking out her notebook and pen.

“Oh no,” Matt says. “You’re not doing this. These guys are dangerous, Karen, you-”

“No,” Karen says, hands curling into fists around her notebook. “You don’t get to tell me that this is too dangerous while _you’re_ the one smack in the middle of it. It doesn’t work like that.”

“It’s different,” Matt insists. "I have abilities, I-"

"I can still _handle_ myself-"

"No, not when-"

"You don't get to put a qualifier there, Matt!” Karen says over him. “I can handle myself, period. I can probably do it better _without_ you, actually.”

It’s a low blow, perhaps, but it forces Matt’s mouth shut with an audible click. His fingers twitch against each other, a nervous tic that’s present even while he’s Daredevil.

“You’re right,” Matt says softly. “You’re safer without me. And if that’s why you’ve been avoiding me, I can’t blame you. But that doesn’t make this any less dangerous.”

Karen fiddles with the strap of her purse. “Well…like I said, I can handle myself.”

Matt frowns at her words. He tilts his head, seems to zone out for a second, and then he turns deathly still. “You have a gun on you.”

Karen’s not sure how Matt knows that—if he can smell or feel or hear the gun in her purse—but she’s not here to apologize for herself. “Yes.”

"Karen-"

“You use billy clubs to protect yourself, and I have this,” Karen hisses. “If you don’t like it, you can beat it out of my purse, see if I care. You know what, I _really_ don’t need your macho, protective bullshit right now. I don’t need your moral, Catholic bullshit either, and I certainly don’t need _you_ , Matt Murdock.”

Matt recoils as if she’d actually pulled out her gun and shot him.

“No one really does,” Matt says finally. “Okay, you win. Conversation tabled, for now. But I still want to _talk_ about this at some point, Karen. You shouldn’t be carrying a gun-”

“I thought you said the conversation was tabled,” Karen says shortly.

“It is. It is, I’m sorry, I just…I don’t know what you want me to _do_ , Karen. You said that you needed time, and then I never heard from you again. Which is fine if that’s what you want, but I don’t _know._ I know what you don’t need from me, but I don’t know what you _do_ need.”

Karen’s tempted to spit out “nothing” and leave him there, her article be damned. But…

But Karen hasn’t been avoiding Matt because she doesn’t want to see him. She’s been avoiding him because _she_ doesn’t know what she wants either. She wants to be Matt’s friend and she even wants to be his girlfriend, but she also wants to be _happy,_ and she’s not sure if any of those things are compatible anymore. Karen has been avoiding Matt because she knows that, given the chance to see him again, she would never let go. Karen doesn’t know _how_ to let go, even when what she’s holding onto is an anchor dragging her down.

 _I need a friend,_ Karen thinks, wiping her eyes when she thinks of how it’s been a week since she’s seen Foggy and twice that since she’s seen Matt, how she’s only talked to sources and Ellison in that time.

“I don’t _need_ anything from you right now, Matt,” Karen says honestly. “But since we’re both here, if you _want_ to work together on the fire department thing…I would like that.”

Matt takes a careful step forward, lifts his hand like he wants to take hers, and then drops that hand to his side. Respecting the distance she’s put between them.

“Yeah,” Matt says. “I’d like that too.”

***

 

Foggy spits out his water when Karen tells him that she knows about Daredevil. The waiter glares at both of them; Karen imagines that Foggy is currently regretting treating Karen to a more up-scale restaurant.

Foggy ignores the pissy waiter, instead focusing on dabbing his tie dry. “Matt _told_ you?”

“Yes.”

Foggy throws the napkin onto the table. “I should be so fucking pissed right now. Did Matt tell you how _I_ found out?”

“No…but I’ve I think I’ve figured it out on my own. That was what you two were fighting about during the Fisk thing, wasn’t it? He was injured by a _person,_ not a car, and you found out about it.”

“Got it in one. God, I should be so fucking pissed,” Foggy repeats.

"But...?"

“But, I don’t have the energy to be mad at Matt Murdock for that long,” Foggy sighs. “I don’t think _anyone_ does. If they did, someone would’ve already harnessed that shit and used it to as an alternative to fossil fuels.”

“Probably for the best then,” Karen says. “I don’t think Matt’s ego needs the boost it’d get from solving the energy crisis.”

Foggy snorts. “You’re telling me. But yeah, I’m not mad. To be honest…I think I’m actually happy about it? That he’s actually capable of learning from his mistakes—enough to tell you, anyway. I…wasn’t really sure if he was capable of that anymore.”

“Me neither,” Karen admits. “But I think he’s trying.”

“That’s…I’m glad. I’m glad he’s finally doing that,” Foggy says. He looks down at the menu. “Does Matt know that you’re talking to me about this?”

Karen shrugs. “He’ll know I’ve talked to you—I think he can…smell it or something?”

“Now there’s something I don’t miss about him,” Foggy says. “So, what you’re saying is that he _doesn’t_ know you’re telling me all this. Great: more secret conversations, more subterfuge. You know, this is exactly why Matt and I-”

“Aren’t friends anymore?”

“…Aren’t partners anymore,” Foggy says softly. He abandons the menu to run a hand through his hair—a bit shorter, more styled, but still him. When Foggy finally speaks again, his voice is hardly more than a whisper. “I guess we really aren’t friends anymore, are we?”

Karen wishes that she could point out a precise event or day during which Matt and Foggy had let the last dregs of their non-work relationship slip away. But the truth is, it’d happened slowly, gradually over the past couple months, until Foggy and Matt only orbited each other from a distance like misaligned planets.

"Friends usually talk to each other,” Karen says gently. “When was the last time you and Matt did that?”

“…I don’t remember,” Foggy says with a grimace. “You know, I don’t think Matt and I had gone a week without talking since we met each other? And now I can’t even remember…”

Foggy covers his face with a hand, but Karen can still hear the tears choking his voice, can still see how his hand trembles against that stupidly fancy menu, and—this isn’t what Karen wanted.

Or, maybe it is what she wanted—maybe she couldn’t help but drag this into the light, even if it meant hurting Foggy. When it comes to not hurting her friends, is she really much better than Matt?

“Hey, no, it’s okay” Karen says, laying a hand over Foggy’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Foggy, I—I pushed too hard, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Nah,” Foggy sniffs. “I need someone to push me sometimes. It used to be Matt, but…”

Karen squeezes Foggy’s elbow. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

“That’s the best idea we’ve had all night. I had no idea what wine to pick anyway,” Foggy admits. “I guess Matt and I were both wrong about that.”

“Wrong about what?”

“We shouldn’t have taken Spanish _or_ Punjabi in college,” Foggy says, wiping his eyes and letting Karen pull him from his seat. “French is where it’s at when you need to pick out fancy wines, apparently.”

“Well, I like a bottle at Josie’s way more than I like a bottle of overpriced wine,” Karen says.

“Liar,” Foggy laughs, but he lets her drag him to a less flashy restaurant. It’s a Vietnamese restaurant and not an Indian one; there are no strings of dancing chili pepper lights, and this isn’t a date. Nonetheless, this moment between Karen and Foggy now is still somehow overlaid with the memory of her and Matt’s date, like camera film that’s been exposed incorrectly. The overlay makes their purpose here fuzzy to Karen, difficult to make out on her own.

“I don’t know what to do,” Karen says. She’s not sure if she’s talking about Matt, about Foggy and herself, or about the three of them together—or if those are things that can even be distinguished.

“Me neither,” Foggy says. “Matt and I never actually dated—never got around to it or knew how to bring it up, the usual stupid bullshit—but it still feels like we broke up, you know? Only it’s worse, because I am the king of staying friends with my exes. Hell, I still get _Christmas cards_ from one of my exes. I thought it would be the same with Matt, but it’s not. He’s just too…”

“Matt,” Karen finishes. “He’s just too Matt.”

To anyone who doesn’t know Matt, it sounds like an unkind thing to say. But Karen and Foggy know him, know that Matt will burn himself alive for what he does and that he can’t always notice when the people closest to him catch alight too. Karen and Foggy both know that the sensible thing to do in this situation is to get away: nurse the burns, put salve on the scars, let time heal their wounds. But it’s impossible to be sensible around Matt, _about_ Matt. If it were, Karen and Foggy probably wouldn’t be having this conversation.

Foggy looks down at his barely touched bowl of pho. “I want to reach out to him,” he says. “I do. I want to be _friends_ again, but…Jesus, Matt knows how to make things complicated. And maybe at some point I was okay with it being my job to un-complicate them, but I don’t know anymore. After everything that’s happened…”

“Yeah,” Karen says.

“Yeah,” Foggy says, pushing his bowl away and flagging down the waiter for their check.

 

***

 

Ellison enters Karen’s office and says, “It payroll asks, you’re thirty-five years old.”

Karen will be anything payroll wants her to be if it means actually getting _paid_ to work again. Still…

“Thirty-five?” Karen asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, most of the idiots in this building have college degrees,” Ellison says. “And the people in _your_ position are supposed to have at least a few years of experience. Gotta buff up that resume of yours somehow.”

“By lying,” Karen laughs. “You know that adding a few years onto my age doesn’t _actually_ make me look more qualified, right?”

“Nope. But, it’s like I said—most of the people here are idiots,” Ellison says. “As long as they think you’re old, they think you’ve got the experience.”

“Of course. Just look at how they treat you,” Karen teases.

“I’ve received nothing but respect since my hair started graying. And then going,” Ellison agrees, rubbing a hand over his bald patch. “Stop making me talk about my age. How’s the fire department piece going?”

“Well, I almost got second degree burns last week, so I’m definitely getting close to some answers,” Karen says. She bites her lip, not sure whether to reveal this, but…someone should know what really happened if Karen gets burned while working with the _real_ danger here. “Daredevil is helping me.”

It’s Ellison’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He quickly closes the door to her office.

“Talk about playing with fire,” he says carefully.

“You’re telling me,” Karen says. “I know it’s not the smart move, but I guess after everything—” after getting used by Frank, after learning that it was _Matt_ who doomed her and saved her that night with The Hand “—I…I needed to know whether it’s possible to work with these people and come out of it okay. If I’m strong enough to do that or if I should just…get out now.”

Ellison frowns; his eyebrows furrow. It’s a look that says: _you should probably be talking to a therapist about this and not your boss, but I’m too damn protective of you to give a shit._

“If it were a matter of being strong enough, there wouldn’t be any question about it, Karen,” Ellison says. “But…given whose office this used to be, we both know that it’s not always about that.”

Karen looks down at her desk, at the coffee rings that still stain it from Ben’s time here. “You don’t think I should be doing this.”

“Of course I think you should,” Ellison says. “It gets me a hell of a story. But you’re also obviously using it to process…whatever, and every working brain cell I _have_ is telling me to take you off this story, because that kind of knowledge isn’t worth risking your life for.”

“But?”

Ellison sighs. “But…given whose office this used to be, we also know that you won’t listen to a word I say about it. So just be careful, all right?”

“I’ll try,” Karen says, and she will this time. This time, her thirst for answers isn’t burning a hole in her gut, isn’t tearing her from the inside-out. For the first time in months, Karen feels safe enough to actually _breathe:_ to actually be careful with herself.

Her first step is not to let Matt get too close to her again. His presence makes Karen’s thoughts heady and muddled, and Karen needs that healthy distance just to think clearly, just to figure out what they even _are_ to each other now.

“Friends,” Matt says. “Isn’t that what we are?”

“I don’t think friends are supposed to sneak into government buildings together,” Karen muses. Matt’s in the suit, and they’re currently waiting on the roof of the fire department until it’s dark enough for them to snoop around.

Matt grins. “My friends do.”

It’s clearly a joke: partially because of Matt’s teasing tone, but mostly because Matt doesn’t seem to _have_ friends anymore. Not without Nelson and Murdock.

It’s sad, and Karen wishes that that didn’t matter to her. But it does; Matt nearly broke her, and yet her heart still has the audacity to cry out in pain for him. Karen just wants to be _angry_ , but every time she opens her mouth to scream at Matt, Frank Castle’s words choke her: _You have_ everything. _Hold onto it. Use two hands and never let go. You got it?_

“It’s complicated,” Karen finally says. “I wish it weren’t, but…”

“But that’s how I am,” Matt says, no longer joking. “I make things complicated. I wasn’t lying to you when I said that I bring disaster to the best things in my life.”

“I didn’t know you meant this, Matt,” Karen says, gesturing to the mask. “I didn’t know it meant doing everything that you did.”

“W-would that have changed anything? If you’d known?”

“I wish it would’ve, but honestly…probably not. I guess you’re not the only impulsive one of us.”

“Speaking of impulsive…” Matt says, unfurling his billy club.

Karen pushes off the wall. “Is the building empty?”

"No.” Matt grins. “But Sorensen is finally in there alone, and I’ve been meaning to have a chat with him.”

“I can’t print the information you beat out of people,” Karen reminds him.

“Then I’ll take care of him; you stay away from the action and snoop for evidence that you _can_ corroborate. I don’t see the problem,” Matt says easily—and perhaps for him, it _is_ that easy.

Matt’s arm hovers at her waist. “May I?”

Karen nods, Matt wraps an arm around her, and she tries not to scream when Matt swings them down to street-level on his billy club’s cable.

“That still scares the shit out of me,” Karen hisses, once both of her feet are planted firmly on the ground again.

“Sorry,” Matt says, huffing out a low laugh. Then Matt shifts where he stands, and Karen can tell that he wants to say more. He wants to tell her to be safe, to get away from here.

But Matt knows the rules—knows that dismissing Karen now would be tantamount to throwing a grenade on _whatever_ it is they’ve rebuilt for themselves. Karen hates the way her gut clenches, how she’s just _waiting_ for him to throw that grenade anyway.

“Sorry, my ass,” she says. “You love that shit.”

Matt grins, staying in line—for now. “Maybe. Do you have your breath back? Ready to flush out a fire bug?”

“Of course,” Karen says. “What are friends for?”

It’s a risky thing to say when they’re both so fragile, but Matt’s surprised smile makes it worth it. They enter the building, and his beam turns into a happy snarl when he finds Sorensen. Matt fights, Karen investigates, and somehow it actually does feel like friendship.

 

***

 

Most of the time that Karen spends with Matt is spent while he’s being Daredevil. There are a few exceptions: a night on his couch after working on the fire department piece, cups of coffee together, phone calls full of stilted silence when Karen can’t sleep and she feels too guilty about the hour to call Foggy. Karen cooks Matt dinner once, and they keep dancing around it: about what they used to be, what they still could be.

Karen’s nights with Foggy are easier. She can put her head on Foggy’s shoulder and soak up his warmth without worrying about the consequences of doing so. Foggy wraps an arm around her when she puts her head on his shoulder tonight. Karen wonders if he notices how automatically he does so now, after nights of sitting and crying and talking together in the aftermath of the Punisher and Matt Murdock.

“Hogarth is making my life a nightmare,” Foggy groans, kicking his feet up on her coffee table.

Karen scoots closer in preparation for their weekly tradition of trading work horror stories. “Don’t tell me you had to work with Jessica Jones again.”

“I wanted to work at a respectful firm,” Foggy laments. “One where I could earn a living wage and everything. But somehow I’m _still_ trying to make questionably obtained vigilante evidence admissible in court? The more things change.”

“You’re acting like you don’t enjoy the challenge.”

“Stop seeing right through me, Page. It’s like you’re an investigative journalist or something.”

“Or something,” Karen agrees. “You know that Hogarth only makes _you_ deal with Jessica because you’re the only one smart enough to do it.”

“Damn straight,” Foggy says. “Still, if I had a dime for every time that lady cussed me out, I would have a tidy Christmas bonus. I could buy you a car. Hell, I could buy you two cars.”

Karen laughs. “What would I do with two cars, Foggy?”

“I don’t know! That’s for _you_ to figure out, Ms. Page,” Foggy says. “I trust that it will be an exciting adventure filled with self-discovery. _Speaking_ of exciting adventures…”

Karen rolls her eyes. Foggy is as smooth at switching conversation topics as Matt is—sometimes Karen can’t believe that these two graduated law school. “Foggy…”

“What? I was just going to say, it’s not every day that my friend makes the front page,” Foggy says. “A corrupt fire department, congratulations! That is a weird thing to congratulate you about, but our lives are super weird!”

“No arguments there.”

“You know what else is weird,” Foggy says. There’s no awkwardness to his transition now; he’s in lawyer mode, fishing for information. “The papers _also_ say that Daredevil has been hanging around the fire department lately. That’s a weird coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Karen says. She bites her lip. “Matt, uh…helped me out while I was writing the story.”

Foggy studies her. “No offense—you can both do what you want—but…why? Solving crime with your ex seems a little out there even for _us_.”

“I know,” Karen says. “And I know it’s probably not a good idea; hell, I can hardly justify it to myself half the time. But…I feel safe when he’s there. I know I probably shouldn’t…but I do.”

Foggy shifts in his seat like he’s about to get up, but stops when Karen stiffens against him. He relaxes his arm against her shoulder, squeezes her arm in a way that says _don’t worry, I’m here. I’m not leaving._

“Your whole thing with Matt, is it…” Foggy sighs. His next words are quiet, still half in his throat when he speaks them. “Is it better than not talking to him at all?”

The question should seem odd. It sounds like something an old lover would ask, and Foggy isn’t technically Matt’s ex. But, at the same time, he _is,_ in the same way that Karen is, because while Matt and Foggy had never gotten around to kissing each other, they’d loved and burned for each other for years before Karen met them.

The question should seem odd, and Karen should say that no, it isn’t worth it to be with Matt in this half, transitory way. But Matt is made of jagged edges that can’t help but serrate their once clean break. Karen knows this better than she once did. She now knows how to make her boundaries trenches so deep that even Matt Murdock cannot leap across them.

It’s complicated—of course it is. But Karen is speaking the truth when she responds, “Yes. It’s worth it, Foggy.”

Foggy runs a hand through his hair. “Of course it is. It’s Matt.”

“Does that mean…?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll talk to him. I’m half-expecting for him to jump out the _window_ before we get anywhere, but…” Foggy clears his throat. “I’ve really missed him, you know?”

Karen thinks about the weeks before she’d reconciled with Matt: the lonely nights she’d spent at the Bulletin, drinking half-cold cups of coffee in order to stave off the anxious walk home.

“Yeah,” Karen says. “I do.”

The three of them meet at Karen’s apartment. The last time Karen saw Matt and Foggy together, they were screaming at each other. Now, they just shift awkwardly on her couch: trying to wordlessly pick their way through the rubble of whatever they were supposed to be before the Castle trial happened.

“Scones?” Karen says, trying to break the silence. She takes a cookie tin out of her pantry. “They’re blueberry! I tried a new recipe—out of an actual cookbook even, not off the back of a box.”

“Matt doesn’t like blueberries,” Foggy says apologetically.

“But I’ll try one anyway,” Matt says, flashing a polite smile “Thank you, Karen.”

They all eat their scones—Matt with a slight grimace—until Foggy sighs and swipes Matt’s plate from his hand.

“Stop eating it if you don’t like it,” Foggy says.

“I’m being nice,” Matt protests.

“No, you’re being a martyr and trying to spare Karen’s feelings about _scones_ instead of just telling us the truth for once.”

“The truth about my pastry preferences?”

Foggy groans. “Okay, enough. I really don’t want to talk about our feelings through thinly-veiled pastry metaphors.”

“Agreed,” Karen says.

“Well, what else am I supposed to _say_!” Matt says. He stands and the movement is explosive in his frustration, but he quickly sits back down when he realizes that he’s moved. He takes a deep breath. “What can I possibly say, Foggy? I don’t think I can even _exist_ without upsetting you.”

“Probably not,” Foggy says.

“Okay then,” Matt says, moving to stand.

Foggy grabs Matt’s sleeve, gently tugging him back down to the couch. “I wasn’t finished. Matt, you’ve _always_ upset me. When you decided studying was a better use of your time than _eating_ during midterms week, when you blew off _everything_ to go hang with Elektra and then hardly spoke when you two broke up—you don’t think any of that upset me? When I first met you, you were a depressed, guilt-ridden, blind orphan. I knew I was signing up for upsetting, and I didn’t care, not if it meant being friends with you.”

“You signed up for Matt Murdock’s level of upsetting, Foggy,” Matt says quietly. “Not Daredevil’s.”

“Yeah, and they’re a package deal now, I get it,” Foggy says, tossing the remains of his scone to his plate. “You know, if you keep on like this, it might actually sound like you’re apologizing to me.”

“I’m not."

“I know. I was being sarcastic,” Foggy sighs. He knows as well as Karen does that Matt will apologize effusively for any number of things, but he’ll never apologize for Daredevil.

Foggy runs a hand through his hair. “We’re going in circles. Let’s try this from the top, okay? You said before that Karen and I were better off without you—but you’re working with her again now. You’re here talking with me. So, did you change your mind about us being better off, or were you just too selfish to care?”

“I don’t know,” Matt chokes out.

Karen puts her plate down. This isn’t getting them anywhere. Foggy and Matt cannot help but go in circles; they’re dug in too deep in the flesh and sorrow of each other to pull out that easily.

“I think it’s both,” Karen says slowly. “Yeah, we’re trying to figure out how to be healthy and better off _together_ rather than apart…but it will always be selfish, Foggy. We’re like…we’re like magnets. You know, like the little ones you used for science class experiments? You’d always try to keep them apart, but it never worked. They always came back together.”

"Sometimes violently," Foggy points out.  

"Yeah," Karen says. "Sometimes." 

Matt shakes his head. "We can’t _be_ that, Karen, not when it’s the whole reason I stepped out of Foggy’s life in the first place. We can’t keep coming together violently without me eventually destroying him.”

“Big fan of not getting destroyed,” Foggy says. “Which _means,_ if we’re sticking with this magnet metaphor and not the pastry one…and if we want to get back together, then we need some lab safety rules. We need boundaries.”

Matt’s smile is soft, tentative, but it nonetheless bursts at the seams with hope. “You really want to get back together with me?”

“I said _if,_ ” Foggy says, but his smile matches Matt’s. Karen finds that she loves nothing more than when their smiles match. “The court will find that I never committed to anything.”

“Of course,” Matt says. His smile only widens when Foggy gives his shoulder a little shove; his voice slips into a teasing tone. “Hey, what about my boundaries?”

“If shoving were a boundary for you, I think you’d be out one violent hobby, buddy,” Foggy says. “But, for real, we’re going to need boundaries if this is going to work out. Thankfully, the way I see it, we’ve already got one set up: no working together. I’ve got my job, Karen’s got hers, you’ve got…wait, you _do_ have a job, right? You didn’t turn all Bruce Wayne during that ninja thing?”

“No,” Matt laughs. “Still dirt poor.”

“He works at a free legal clinic now,” Karen supplies. “I think he gets paid less than _I_ do.”

“Typical Murdock,” Foggy snorts. “Still trying to get paid as little as possible while fighting for the little guy.”

“Not as glamorous as working for Hogarth, I know,” Matt says. “How are the chairs there?"

“I have no idea how to sit in them,” Foggy says triumphantly. “It’s glorious.”

“That’s good,” Matt says softly. He clears his throat. “Foggy, um, are…are you happy?”

Foggy nods. “Yeah. I am, Matt.”

“And would…” Matt bites his lip. “ _Could_ you still be happy if I were in your life again?”

Foggy pulls Matt into his arms and, after a moment, pulls Karen into them too. Foggy hugs them tightly, and Karen remembers Matt’s words from when they were playing pool in a crowded bar months before this: _If it were up to Foggy, we’d be doing this for the rest of our lives._

Maybe now they can—or can at least do a version of it.

“You drive me crazy, Murdock,” Foggy says. “You infuriate me ten times a day and scare the shit out of me twice that much. But I love you, man.”

Karen can’t see Matt’s face from where it’s pressed between Foggy’s shoulder and Karen’s, but she can hear him sniffling again.

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Matt manages.

“It doesn’t,” Foggy admits. He presses his cheek to Matt’s hair. “I think I can _try_ to be happy with you, Matt. I _want_ to try.”

“We can make it work. We just need boundaries,” Karen reminds both of them—reminds herself. “We don’t keep any more secrets, we don’t depend on each other for work, and we give each other space when we need it.”

“Boundaries,” Foggy says, as if he’s tasting the word. “Sounds new and exciting for us. I’m in. Matt?”

“Yes,” Matt says instantly. “Karen?”

“Of course,” Karen says, hugging them closer. Foggy’s elbow is in her side and Matt’s glasses are pressing awkwardly against her shoulder, but Karen doesn’t care—not when they’re finally together again.

 

***

 

At first, the three of them only hang out together at Karen’s apartment or in public. It’s agreed that Matt and Foggy’s apartments aren’t neutral enough settings given the fragility of what they have. There are discussions of boundaries, of what Karen and Foggy are allowed to ask of Matt—they can ask him about his injuries, but can’t ask him to stop being Daredevil—and what Matt is allowed to ask of them—he can ask them to cover for him while he’s out being Daredevil, but he can’t ask them to always be okay with what he’s doing.

It seems to be working—or, at least, there have been more smiles than tears over the past month they’ve been back together. Matt and Foggy even begin hanging out independently of Karen. The first night they do so, Karen paces a hole in the floor of her office waiting for Foggy’s call. When her phone finally rings, she scrambles for it in a move that Ellison _definitely_ notices, given the raise of his eyebrow as he walks by her door.

Karen shoos him away while answering the phone. “So? How did it go?”

“It was good,” Foggy says. “He had a black eye and a split lip, but I kept my cool.”

Karen frowns and flips through her notes. “He does? Huh, I don’t have any Daredevil spottings noted for the past few days. I wonder what he’s up to-”

“Karen.”

Karen shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m still in reporter mode. How is he, aside from the bruises?”

“Tired? But when isn’t he? Hell, when aren’t _any_ of us tired these days? Unless we start having sleepovers together, I’m not sure there’s a solution for that.”

“Maybe we should,” Karen says with a chuckle. “I could paint your guys’ nails.”

“Only my nails,” Foggy corrects her. “Matt hates the smell of nail polish.”

“I’m sure we could find something else for him to do.”

“Hair braiding?”

“Perfect.”

“He’s actually pretty good at it,” Foggy says. His smile is audible even over the phone. “Hey, Karen? I think we’re actually going to be okay.”

Karen can’t believe it, but—she thinks so too. After they end the call, Karen clutches the phone to her chest until Ellison tells her to go look lovesick somewhere else.

She’s on her way home when the shadows shift from within the alleyway she’s walking past. Karen’s gut twists, her heart spikes, and she already has one hand around the gun in her purse when a familiar voice calls from darkness: “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.”

“Ma— _Daredevil_ ,” Karen hisses, looking around to make sure no one is looking before entering the alley. “You scared the shit out of me!”

Matt smiles apologetically, which looks ridiculous when he’s wearing the devil mask. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, well. You need to work on your stealth—your shadows give you away, you know.”

Matt shrugs, a sort of _noted, but not registered as a concern, sighted person_ gesture. “The new laundromat near my apartment is a front for a drug smuggling operation. You want to be the one to break the story?”

Karen narrows her eyes. “You’re inviting me into Daredevil stuff? What happened to all that ‘protecting me’ bullshit?”

“It’s like you said, you can take care of yourself.”

Karen taps her foot.

Matt smiles. “ _And_ I need someone to break this story so I can find out who’s behind it all. I don’t think the family that owns the laundromat is doing this of their own will, but I doubt they know enough about the people extorting them to tell me.”

“So, I publish the story, and the gang that reacts to it is the one you have to follow up on. Smart,” Karen says.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

Karen hums noncommittally. “I feel like this is a breach in journalistic ethics, me reporting the stories you ask me to.”

“But you’re still going to help me?”

“Well…I never went to journalism school, so I never really learned the details of those ethics. And now _I_ need to know which gang is behind it too. Lead the way.”

It’s a blurring of professional lines, and Matt and Karen both know it. But Karen doesn’t think they’d be themselves if they weren’t tempted to leap across them anyway. Perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising, then, that Matt pushes at another boundary between them that night. In the shadows of the alley across from the laundromat, while they wait for the store to close, Matt quietly admits, “I want to kiss you.”

Karen knows this—of course she knows. But the wound of her and Matt’s relationship is still raw, and there is a _reason_ she put that boundary up between them.

“Matt…” Karen sighs.

“I know I’m not supposed to say it,” Matt says. “But I wasn’t sure what else to do. I…I was with Foggy tonight.”

To anyone else, Matt’s last statement would appear to be a non-sequitur. Karen knows better.

“I know,” she says.

“I wanted to kiss him too,” Matt says. The admission sounds as if it were ripped out of him. “How am I supposed to balance this, Karen? One of our rules says that we can’t overstep our boundaries, but another says that we’re supposed to be honest with each other. I can’t do both of them when I feel like this.”

Of course he can’t. Matt barely understands boundaries in the first place, let alone where they intersect with other rules. But Matt has always been a quick study, so Karen takes a leap of faith that he’ll understand her when she says, “I want to kiss you too. But that wouldn’t be a good idea right now.”

“I know,” Matt says, his voice small. “I…make things complicated.”

There’s that word again: _complicated._ Karen is sick of it: sick of it being used to label their lives and their work and their love.

“Everyone makes things complicated, Matt,” Karen says. “That’s what people _do._ It doesn’t mean that Foggy and I don’t want you—hell, you can probably tell from our heartbeats that we _do._ It just means that we have to be careful if we decide to give this a try.”

“I can do careful,” Matt says, though he sounds unsure of this fact. Karen can’t blame him for the uncertainty. Matt isn’t made for careful: the pieces just aren’t inside of him.

But when they enter the laundromat, Matt takes out two unexpected guards, and he is so delicate in how he throws his clubs, so precise in how he knocks them out without crossing his moral boundary— _thou shall not kill_ —that Karen thinks that care is more present within Matt than any of them realize.

She just wishes that he took that kind of care with himself.

“I’m worried about him, Foggy,” Karen says over the phone, nearly a month later. “Matt was supposed to meet me for coffee today and then he just never showed. He’s not answering his phone, he’s not at work, and he’s not in his apartment either.”

“You’re in his apartment?” Foggy says. “You know what, never mind. Look, Matt is the biggest flake in the world, Karen. He was like that even before he took up…gardening.”

Ah, Foggy is around other people then. They haven’t yet perfected their code for talking about Daredevil, so Matt’s pretend extra-curricular activities currently include kickboxing, swimming and diving, a book club, and, now, gardening.

“Really?” Karen says. “It’s been a week since either of us saw him, Foggy. I know we said to give each other some space sometimes, but…”

“But this is something else,” Foggy sighs. “You’re right; I’ve been worried sick since he skipped drinks on me a couple days ago. But what can we do? Hang out at his apartment and wait for him to come back?”

There’s a long moment of silence between them that is finally broken by Foggy’s groan.

“I hate this,” Foggy says. “Okay, you bring the food, I’ll bring the booze?”

They stand vigil in Matt’s apartment for two days. They both sleep in Matt’s bed, and even in their worry, their bodies lay easily and comfortably together in a way that Karen can’t afford to think about right now. They hardly sleep anyway. Most of their time is spent working, calling around for leads about Daredevil’s whereabouts, and returning to their favorite pastime: worrying about Matt fucking Murdock.

It’s early on the morning of the third day that Matt collapses through the window, crashing to the ground in a sound that’s loud enough to rouse Karen and Foggy from their fitful sleep. They run to the living room to find Matt sprawled across the floor.

“Shit,” Karen says. “Help me get the suit off.”

Matt groans while they peel the damn thing off, but he’s conscious enough to weakly move his limbs in an attempt to help them—though he’s so weak that his help is more of a hindrance.

“Matt? You awake there?” Foggy asks. “I’m no doctor and Claire is out of town, so it would _really_ help if you could tell us what injuries you’ve got, buddy.”

“Stab wound,” Matt slurs. “Shallow; not fatal. Bruises. Ribs might be broken.”

“You’re way too weak for a shallow stab wound and some banged up ribs,” Karen says. Foggy raises his eyebrows in a look that clearly says _uh, how do you know that?_ and Karen realizes that Foggy has never seen Matt fight up close. He doesn’t know the kind of pain that Matt is used to fighting through.

Matt would be oblivious to this exchange even if he weren’t nearly delirious. “Dehydrated,” Matt murmurs. “Worst part of being kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped,” Karen breathes. On one hand, it’s a relief that it wasn’t of Matt’s own volition to leave Karen and Foggy for so long. But, on the other hand, it’s terrifying for what Karen and Foggy already know to be confirmed: that Matt can be taken from them at any time.

Karen gets a bottle of water from the fridge. When she comes back, Matt’s head is resting on Foggy’s lap, his eyelids drooping as Foggy cards a hand through his hair.

“You idiot,” Foggy whispers. “You’re not supposed to do this to me.”

“I know,” Matt says. His voice is choked, but his eyes are dry—he’s too dehydrated even to cry. “But you…you knew that I would. That I’d upset you.”

 _Of course he knew,_ Karen thinks. _But you weren’t supposed to prove him right, Matt._

“We can talk about this later,” Karen says, kneeling down and offering Matt the water bottle. Matt’s hand shakes as he takes it, and he ends up dribbling most of the water down his chin. Karen gently takes the bottle and feeds him small sips while Foggy keeps Matt’s head upright. They probably give Matt too much water—he groans when they drag him to his feet, slurs, “Can hear it sloshing”—but when they put him to bed, his skin isn’t nearly so dry and pale as it was when they found him on the floor.

Karen and Foggy settle in on either side of Matt and watch him breathe for a long time before finally managing to fall asleep.

Karen wakes up at a _whoosh_ of air as Matt leaps over her, followed by the sounds of retching coming from the bathroom. Karen and Foggy had indeed given him too much water. Foggy’s still sleeping beside her, so Karen moves quietly when she pads over to the bathroom.

Karen leans against the sink. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Matt says roughly from where he’s hovering over the toilet.

“Feeling better?”

It’s a stupid thing to ask given that Matt just threw up, but Matt only nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Karen’s reporter instincts dictate her next question—she cannot help but be curious now that Matt’s alive and okay. “Can I ask what happened over the past few days? You said something about a kidnapping.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Karen says in disbelief. “You’ve been missing for _days_ , Matt, probably longer than that! You were out of your mind with dehydration when we found you. Of course it _matters-_ ”

“No, it doesn’t. Don’t you see, the details don’t _change_ anything. You and Foggy have been in my apartment for two days worrying about me. Maybe you can forgive me for that, but Foggy…” Matt shakes his head. “He’s given me too many chances as it is, Karen.”

“So what’s one more?” Foggy says from the doorway.

Karen startles, but more importantly, so does _Matt._ Jesus, he must _really_ be exhausted not to have noticed Foggy’s presence.

Matt’s expression turns miserable. “Just say it.”

“Say what?” Foggy says.

“That I worry you, that you hate this, that you’re better off without me dragging you down,” Matt sighs. “You’re dying to say it.”

Foggy sighs back at him. “Can you please stop acting like you know what I’m thinking? You’re not very good at it. You don’t drag me down, Matt; I’m pretty good at keeping myself afloat.”

“But you do worry. You do hate this."

“I thought you were dead; of course I hate this!” Foggy says. “But do you think I didn’t know this was part of the deal when we started being friends again?”

“Doesn’t make it a good deal,” Matt whispers.

“Maybe not. _But,_ luckily for you, I’m a fantastic lawyer. I know how to make a bad deal work in my favor,” Foggy says.

Karen cocks her head at Foggy. “What do you have in mind?”

Foggy smiles. “Well…how do you two feel about sleepovers?”

Matt snorts, and that’s how they end up having an actual sleepover the next night, hair braiding and all. The only reason there’s no nail polish is because Matt doesn’t own any. It’s the first time that the three of them have been together in Matt’s apartment since the Castle trial. Karen wishes the circumstances were different, but it soothes some ache in her, being here: healing the hurt that took place in this apartment with gentle words and fleeting touches.

Karen closes her eyes as Matt cards his hands neatly through her hair. Foggy’s head lays on Karen’s lap, his hair already neatly braided. Karen should just let this peace carry on. She knows that that’s what Foggy wants to do: rest and recuperate from three days of constant anxiety. But she has to _know_ …

“What happened, Matt?” Karen asks.

Matt’s hands still against her hair for a moment before he continues braiding. When Karen looks down at Foggy, he’s frowning at her: _don’t do this. Don’t hurt him, don’t cross this boundary._

But sometimes boundaries _need_ to be crossed, don’t they? Sometimes you need to push for the truth before the lies occlude everything, before they become thick enough to suffocate you. Foggy will never push that hard—he’s too gentle for that—but Karen always will.

“Human trafficking ring,” Matt says quietly. “I found their base of operations…I’m not sure how many nights ago. I…I lost track of time a bit.”

Foggy squeezes his hand. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, buddy.”

Matt shakes his head, and _oh,_ how Karen recognizes that shaking head, that trembling chin: the look Matt wears when his sorrow can no longer be bottled up inside of him. So, with his hands still buried in Karen’s hair, Matt tells them. He tells them about scouting out the building for days, about going mad under the weight and sounds and smells of that much suffering, until he could do nothing more but break in and free as many people as he could, even though he knew the timing was horrendous—even though he knew that it would get him hurt.

“But they needed help,” Matt says, and couldn’t that just be the title of his memoir? _They needed help, so I bled for them._ “They got me with something…I wasn’t sure where I was when I woke up, but I…well, I got out. And I came home.”

Karen turns around and hugs him tightly. “We’re so glad you did.”

“Me too,” Matt breathes. “I always will. I promise.”

 _You can’t promise that,_ Karen wants to say, but maybe he can. Maybe it won’t always be in one piece and maybe it will take him a while to get there, but so far, Matt has always come home. If he hadn’t, they wouldn’t be here together in this room.

Karen squeezes Matt tighter, immediately letting go when Matt groans.

“Did I hurt you?” Karen asks.

“No,” Matt says, rubbing at his neck. “It’s just, you were hugging me right where…” Matt flushes. “Uh, they got a blow dart to my neck. It’s still a bit sore.”

It’s Foggy’s turn to groan. “A _blow dart_?”

“Not a word,” Matt says.

“Sure, sure,” Foggy says, going back to resting his head on Karen’s lap. “Not a word about your weird villains and their weird weapons. So, when you got darted, did everything fade to black? How does that even work for you?”

It’s a fragile teasing, still layered with hurt and anxiety, but it makes Matt smile nonetheless. “Tease the dehydrated blind man, why don’t you?”

“I thought that’s what I just did?”

Matt tackles Foggy, but because Foggy is half in Karen’s lap, Karen gets roped into the tussle too. She shrieks when it’s _her_ side that ends up being tickled instead of Foggy’s.

“Oh, it’s on,” Karen says, reaching from behind Foggy to tickle Matt.

Matt actually _screeches_ , and the sound is so ridiculous that all three of them nearly fall off the bed laughing, only managing to save themselves by clinging to each other.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says, when they’ve finally calmed down enough for their silence to be contemplative rather than giddy. “I hurt you by being gone for that long.”

“You know, someone once told me…” Karen starts. She swallows heavily, continues. “Someone once told me that it’s the people closest to us who know how to hurt us. He said that’s how you know that it’s love—that you have to hold onto that and never let go.”

“Sounds healthy,” Foggy snorts.

“He wasn’t the most well-adjusted guy,” Karen admits. “And I don’t _want_ to believe in holding onto something that hurts that much.”

“But?” Matt says quietly.

“But we’re always going to hurt each other,” Karen says. “Even if we don’t mean to do it. But maybe if we learn from all of our stupid shit and keep coming back home then…then we can sort out the good hurt from the bad and just keep moving _forward_.”  
  
Matt takes her hand. “There’s nothing I want more.”

“Me too,” Foggy says softly.

It all sounds a lot like vows, but none of them comment upon it; they’re not saying anything they haven’t already pledged to each other. They settle into bed, Matt in the middle again, and huddle together on Matt’s soft sheets.

Karen sleeps better than she has in months.

 

***

 

Sleepovers become a regular thing for them, whenever they can make the time or whenever Matt is injured enough that Karen and Foggy insist on staying over to keep an eye on him. They end up bringing their work home with them during most of these sleepovers, but they usually manage to sneak dinner and a movie in there. One night, with the provision that they go to Karen’s apartment to do it, Matt even paints Karen and Foggy’s nails.

“Stop making me laugh,” Matt says, while painting Karen’s pinky nail. “It makes my hands shake, and I’m doing this blind as it is.”

“You have to admit that it’s quite the mental image,” Karen says.

“Quite the mental image? Daredevil ran into a _pole_ ,” Foggy says. “I can just picture it, Matt—you swinging around on that grapple whatever, thinking you look all badass, and then _bam_ , right into the pole like Wiley E. Coyote.”

“I _do_ look badass,” Matt says, now paying more attention to the argument than Karen’s nails. “And I’m going really fast when I use it! It’s harder to see poles coming than you’d think.”

“Yeah, especially if you’re blind.”

Matt’s shaking laughter smudges the polish again. By the end of the night, Karen’s nails end up looking horrendous, and honestly? Karen couldn’t be happier about it.

Unfortunately, not all of their sleepovers leave Karen feeling so light. That’s because another rule of theirs is: ask if you need help. They all have trauma and nightmares to work through, so it’s routine by now to get a 1am phone call from the others asking to talk or come over. It’s perhaps the rule that Matt has the most trouble with, out of all the ones they’ve created.

That’s how Karen knows to worry when she sees Matt’s name on her caller ID this late. Matt never calls unless it’s bad. She texts Foggy, and soon all three of them are sat at Matt’s kitchen table, waiting for him to speak. That’s the scariest thing about Matt’s depression: it steals his voice, turns his charming lines and even his stuttering admissions into silence. Karen hadn’t known that about Matt until after he’d told her about Daredevil.

Foggy had though. He knows just to sit there, crack the occasional joke, and run a thumb over Matt’s knuckles until Matt finds his words again: until Matt bursts with the story of Elektra’s death and the guilt that’s invaded his dreams for the past week.

“I…I killed her,” Matt says wetly, his words slurred. Karen thinks that he’d been drinking before he’d worked up the nerve to call them.

“No, you didn’t,” Karen says.

“I did,” Matt murmurs. “I’m the one who convinced her to fight The Hand instead of giving in.”

“Which I’m pretty sure she was grateful for,” Foggy says slowly. He’s clearly still trying to process the _Matt’s college girlfriend is a ninja warrior_ thing. “Just like I’m pretty sure that she’d slap you for trying to take that decision away from her.”

Matt winces. “Probably. But she’d still be alive if it weren’t for me.”

Karen places a gentle hand over Matt’s. “Matt, you can’t do that to yourself. I…I know what it’s like to have someone who matters that much to you be killed and—and for it to feel like it’s _all_ your fault. It leaves a shadow over your heart, it’s ugly and it leaves you broken and…and it’s not okay, and I’m _so_ sorry that happened to you.”

“Me too,” Foggy says. “We know what you’re going through—kind of, anyway. But you did all you could; you _have_ to know that.”

Matt shakes his head. “No, you don’t know—it’s different when you’re _right_ there, when it’s violent and-”

“God,” Karen says, fisting her hands in her hair. “Could you—for once could you stop assuming that we don’t understand? That I don’t understand what it’s like to do something that-” _that violent, to see blood and death occur right in front of your eyes, to know that_ you _are the cause, you have done this, you have destroyed a universe._

Matt’s brows furrow, and Karen looks at her shoes. God, Matt called her up in tears and now she’s repaying his trust by having a breakdown right in front of him. How could she do this to him? What’s _wrong_ with her? _Why_ can’t she do this, why can’t she--

“ _Breathe,_ ” Foggy says. “Just breathe, Karen, okay?”

Karen wheezes, panic constricting her chest, but she nods. She knows the routine by now, knows from her nightmares what it is to fight for control of her body and her breathing. It doesn’t make it any easier. But Matt and Foggy holding her hand while she struggles to breathe, being able to match her exhales with their own…that actually does make it easier.

And maybe that’s why Karen finally tells them then. The timing couldn’t be worse, given that Matt’s still shaking from his own story, but if she doesn’t tell them now, she never will. Because it’s only right after dragging each other from the brink that Karen’s trust overrides her instinct: that _maybe they can actually help_ overrides _you don’t deserve to tell them._ So she tells them about Wesley, she tells them about trying to find salvation in Frank, she tells them about fighting to be a good person over and over again, only to end up back in the gutter where she belongs.

“That’s not true,” Foggy says. “You know that’s not true. It was self-defense. Self-defense taken to the _extreme,_ maybe, but it would hold up in court.”

“It’s not about the law, Foggy. It’s about what’s right.” Karen turns to Matt. He hasn’t said a word yet, quiet in the aftermath of her emotion being thrown in with his, but—he’s still holding her hand. “You once said that it’s up to God whether people live or die. Do you still believe that, knowing what I did?”

Matt tilts his head. “Does it matter? _You_ don’t believe that.”

“Matt.”

Matt sighs. “Of course I think what you did was wrong, Karen. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve forgiveness.”

“In the eyes of God? Maybe,” Karen snorts. She runs a finger along the grain of the kitchen table. “But do _you_ forgive me? For God’s sake, Matt, we came here to help you and you ended up having to—to talk to me about how I…how I…Matt, I’m so _sorry._ ”

Matt steps out of his chair and wraps her in a hug, and Karen—Karen breaks. She cries into his shirt, smearing snot and tears all over sleeve. There’s a pressure on her back, and she realizes it’s Foggy’s hands: steadying her, always steadying her.

“Of course I forgive you,” Matt says. He’s crying too, shaking against her. “But do you forgive me?” _For getting Elektra killed, for hurting so many people, for being the person I am?_

Karen hadn’t realized it until now, but: she has. For a long time she hadn’t needed to forgive Matt, hadn’t even wanted to forgive him. But after months of rebuilding what they are, the anger and hurt she’s carried around because of Matt Murdock’s actions have faded into the background, until they hardly twinge anymore.

“I do,” Karen says into his chest, knowing that he can hear it. “Foggy?”

“I’m sitting here bawling my eyes out at 2am because of you two,” Foggy sniffs. “Yeah, I forgive you. Not that there’s much to _forgive,_ given that it’s neither of your _faults_ that anyone is dead.”

“A lot of people have died for me, Foggy,” Matt insists, and Karen remembers why they’re here: because this is something that Matt still believes. Because, while Karen’s trauma has at least scabbed over, Matt’s pain and guilt still bleed until he can do nothing but ask them for help.

“It’s not like that, Matt,” Karen insists.

“But what if it-”

“Okay,” Foggy says, taking a deep breath. “Since everything is coming out tonight, let’s get one thing straight. Nobody died for either of you! Look, maybe Matt’s right and it’s up to God who lives or dies, or maybe it’s up to ourselves. I don’t know; I’m a half-Jewish, half-Catholic heathen, guys. If it’s up to ourselves, then yeah, you didn’t save everyone. But you both saved _yourselves_ and a hell of a lot of other people going up against Fisk and The Hand! And the people who died along the way died because _they_ thought that was worth dying for, not because you _made_ them do it.”

“And if God decides who should live or die?” Matt asks.

“Then it’s not up to you anyway,” Foggy sighs. “So stop trying to _martyr_ yourselves and get some god damn therapy, okay?”

Karen leans back so that her head rests against Foggy’s stomach. Matt leans back in his chair, but props his feet on the edge of Karen’s chair and worries her palm with his thumb.

“You’re very persuasive,” Matt manages, wiping his eyes. “Have you ever considered being a lawyer?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“What about a therapist?” Matt suggests.  
  
“God help me, I am _not_ your therapist, Murdock,” Foggy says, shaking his head. He’s chuckling though; Karen can feel his belly vibrating with the movement. “I’m just a guy who thinks you’re worth keeping around. 

They sit until the sun rises, drinking Matt’s coffee until they have to separate for work. They give each other space for a few days, and when they come back together, something feels different. They move more smoothly around each other, talk more freely. It’s not that they’ve finally fit their cracked pieces together again, or that they’ve fixed all their communication issues— _lord_ knows that they haven’t. But the last piece of their armor has finally been peeled away; that night, they’d stood before each other with the dark and secret parts of themselves exposed for the others to touch and examine, and they’d survived.

And they’d decided that they were all worth keeping around anyway.

 

***

 

Josie’s bar is too intertwined with all that they were pre-Punisher, so they have to find a new bar to skulk around on their nights off. This bar is cleaner than Josie’s, something that Foggy laments—“Is it _really_ a proper bar if you’re not constantly fearing for your health and safety?”—but it’s small and cheap enough to house the three of them.

Karen and Foggy stand at the bar, watching Matt play pool while they wait for their drinks. Matt must sense that no one else is watching him, because he appears to be going for a shut-out against himself. He’s doing quite well given that he can’t actually tell the different colored balls apart.

“Show off,” Karen mutters, rolling her eyes when she sees Matt grin in response.

“The peacock in his natural habitat,” Foggy agrees. “Oh, he’s listening to us—you can tell because he just jumped the seven ball over the two. Yes, very impressive, Murdock. You still sunk a solid instead of a stripe though.”

Matt frowns and picks the ball out of the pocket, shrugging sheepishly when he can’t feel the difference.

Karen laughs, and something bubbles warmly in her gut and throat, something she hasn’t felt since dinner with Matt under the chili pepper lights, since dinner with Foggy in Elena’s cramped apartment: safety, love, _longing_ , all mixed together until Karen could burst with them _._

“Is…is this a date?” Karen has to ask. Foggy bangs his knee against the bar and there’s a scratching sound as Matt’s cue hits the pool table instead of the ball.

“If drinking in a cramped bar counted as a date, we’d all have been dating for months now,” Foggy says carefully.

“Well…haven’t we?” Karen says. Before Foggy can interrupt her, she continues. “I know it’s more complicated than that, but come on, Foggy. We practically share a bed these days. Matt wants to kiss us, and I _know_ the feeling isn’t unrequited-”

“You know he can hear us, right?”

Karen looks over to where Matt stands frozen over the pool table. “Good. It’s his relationship too.”

Foggy sighs. “I know. I just don’t know how to answer that, Karen. I mean, yeah, I _want_ this to be a date. I really do, and we’re probably on that trajectory anyway, but just…not yet?”

“Not yet,” Karen agrees, taking their drinks back over to Matt, who moves slowly and contemplatively for the rest of the night. But he doesn’t cross those boundaries—doesn’t cross the thin line between friendship and something else that they’ve been tip-toeing around since Karen confessed her sins.

Still, Karen can see the line blurring when she squints. It’s in the way Foggy’s hand lingers over theirs when handing them their jackets, the way Karen wakes from their sleepovers with Foggy’s snores in her ears and Matt’s arm wrapped around her middle, the way that Matt’s hand trails down from their elbows when Foggy and Karen lead him down the street. What they have grows slowly, but it’s there: cultivated by their careful boundaries and long conversations.

Karen never even wondered if it was something that was noticeable to anyone else until the Bulletin’s anniversary party. Normally, the Bulletin is too busy for office parties, but they’re all looking for an excuse to booze up after the hellish year they’ve had reporting on all the vigilantes that’ve been cropping up in New York.

The invite says to bring family, so Karen brings Foggy and Matt. She gets them both drinks and ends up chatting with Ellison, who seems to have taken it upon himself to guard the punch bowl from being spiked any further than it already is.

“Someone’s got to do it,” Ellison says with a shrug.

“Or you don’t want anyone to suspect you when the bowl gets spiked again,” Karen says.

“Hmm, a good theory, but I don’t see any corroborating sources. Save it for the gossip tabloids.” Ellison nods to where Matt and Foggy are standing together. “Those ones yours?”

“Uh, yeah,” Karen says, smiling. “Yeah, they are. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Later, after having had the honor of hearing Foggy’s butcher story for the first time and after the punch bowl is more alcohol than fruit, Ellison pulls Karen aside again.

“So, they’re _yours_ ,” Ellison says.

“Mine?”

“A reporter is an observer of the human condition, Karen. Plus, you three are practically holding hands and skipping around the room together.”

“Oh!” Karen says, blushing. “You mean _mine…_ I, it’s not…”

“Isn’t it?” Ellison asks innocently.

Karen huffs out a laugh. She glances at where Matt and Foggy are talking quietly in the corner, Matt’s head leaned against Foggy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, uh…it kind of is,” Karen says. “It’s a bit more complicated than that though.”

Ellison shrugs. “Love usually is. But hey: congratulations, Karen. Really, after everything you’ve been through…well, I’m glad you have some people in your corner. You deserve it.”

 _Love._ Karen floats back to Matt and Foggy, thinking about how warm and syrupy the word feels at the back of her throat. She presses a kiss to Foggy’s cheek when he has to leave early and holds hands with Matt when he walks her home.

Yes, she thinks that she deserves this.

***

 

“You guys really used to do this back in college?” Karen says. She eyes the chain link fence skeptically.

“Hell yeah,” Foggy says from where he’s fiddling with the fence’s padlock. It would be faster if Matt or Karen picked it, but Foggy is apparently the designated lock picker by tradition and is determined to keep the title.

“It’s a time-honored Columbia pastime,” Matt supplies.

“Actually, it’s because Matt hated going to the public pool during the day,” Foggy explains. “I thought it was a blind thing, but it turns out that it was _actually_ a sensory thing-”

“You don’t know what’s _been_ in that pool,” Matt mutters darkly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Foggy says. “Anyway, Matt hadn’t been swimming in ten years, and I found this to be a travesty, so I’d sneak him into the pool at night when no one was around.”

“And you never got caught?” Karen asks.

“I’d, ah, _suggest_ to Foggy that we leave whenever I heard someone coming,” Matt says.

“Though there was that infamous night that you missed that security guard, and we had to hide under the used towels,” Foggy says.

“I heard him coming; you were just too slow getting out of the pool,” Matt says. He dodges Foggy’s finger when it tries to poke him.

“And now, five years later, here we are,” Foggy says. “Because we don’t get up to enough illegal activity in our off hours as it is.”

“Because I missed this,” Matt says, nudging Foggy and then smiling at Karen. “And besides, I wanted to show Karen this. I wanted it to be hers too.”

Karen’s smile must surely match Matt’s own in intensity. She knows that Foggy’s does. Karen squeezes Matt’s elbow in thanks, and cheers with him when Foggy finally manages to pick the lock. They sneak into the pool together, hissing at each other to be quiet even though Matt assures them that no one is around.

Matt and Foggy strip to their underwear and dive in. The pool lights shimmer and dance against their bodies as Matt swims to the deep end and Foggy floats in the shallows. Karen strips to her underwear too and jumps into the deep end with a splash. She comes up laughing and giggles even harder when she sees Matt sputtering at her, his face dripping with water.

Foggy tries to splash her from afar. “This is _secret_ pool sneaking, Page! Get your act together.”

Matt spits out water and splashes her too. It nearly becomes a full-out splashing war until they decide that they’re making too much noise. Instead, Karen quietly treads water, Foggy floats, and Matt swims around them both in lazy circles.

“Should I be singing the Jaws theme right now?” Foggy asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should pull Karen under for the cannonball she did,” Matt says with a wicked grin. He swims closer as if to act on it, but ends up simply treading water beside Karen, their feet brushing each other’s as they stay afloat.

Foggy turns over to tread water with them and yawns. Matt goes underwater and buts his head against Foggy’s side as if to wake him up: the way he would when they were all in bed together. Foggy rolls his eyes at Karen, pulls Matt up, and ruffles Matt’s hair before pushing him away. The pool lights ripple across their bodies, the only sound in the pool is their faint splashing, and Karen cannot help but love these two with all her heart.

“I want to kiss both of you,” Karen says, finally feeling free to do so—for it’s no longer a guilty admission or a half-doomed fantasy, but simply a possibility.

Matt nearly goes under when he freezes at her words, but he quickly begins treading water again. He nods eagerly. “It’s what I want too. That is…” He turns to Foggy. “I know you’ve forgiven me for a lot of things and that—that you want this too, but if you’re not ready, I can wait. And if you’re never ready…I can do that too. I just want you and Karen to be happy, Foggy.”

Foggy answers by swimming closer to Matt and pressing tiny kisses against the stubble of Matt’s jaw.

“A year ago, I would have done anything for you, Matt,” Foggy says against Matt’s skin. “Hell, I _did_ do anything for you. And, if you’d asked me this a few months ago, I would’ve said that you were out of your damn mind.”

Matt closes his eyes, lets out a shaky breath when Foggy presses another kiss to his cheek. “And now?”

“Now I know what’s good for me,” Foggy says, “and I know what I want. And they’re finally the same thing.”

Matt kisses Foggy on the lips, smiling into it just like he did when he kissed Karen on her doorstep. Matt slowly drags Karen and Foggy to the shallow end, pressing kisses against their cheeks and lips while he does so. He and Karen kiss and it’s just as sweet as their first, except now there’s no secret danger lying in wait: no guilt or self-destruction that looms from the shadows. There’s only their lips on each other’s and the surety that this is what’s right: that this what makes them happy, what fills their stomachs with shivering anticipation that bends inside them just like the shimmering refraction of the pool lights.

All the while, Foggy caresses and kisses Karen’s back until Karen has to turn to kiss him too. Foggy sucks her lip and hooks an arm around her waist. He is warm and secure beside her. Karen feels safe in this kiss, could _live_ in this kiss.

They spend whole minutes nuzzling and making out in that tiny public pool. Karen thinks they would end up staying there until they were cold and wrinkled, but they manage to wrangle themselves free of each other when Matt freezes and says, “Someone’s coming.”

“The timing!” Foggy cries, stealing one last kiss from both of them before swimming for the edge of the pool. “Karen, if you’re a part of our secret pool parties now, it’s only fair that you’re also a part of our secret pool party escapes.”

“Well,” Karen giggles, “it _is_ tradition.”

They trip over their clothes, barely able to stop kissing each other for long enough to put them back on. They manage to get partway decent, and soon Karen and Foggy run for the door while Matt flips over the fence. Wet and cold and clinging to each other, they hurry home to hold and kiss and continue to get to know each other anew.

 

 

 


End file.
